


Fell in Love with the Drummer

by LadyRavenEye



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRavenEye/pseuds/LadyRavenEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt: you’re the drummer for my brothers band and i find you really hot AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fell in Love with the Drummer

            “Buck, I’ve seen you play a thousand times, I’m not feeling great and I don’t feel up to fighting the crowds at Spike Hill.”

            “Aw, Steve, I understand.  I only wanted to let you know that Reggie can’t make it, so we have a stand in drummer tonight.  He’s real good and Steve, he’s real cute.  I’m pretty sure he’s single.  Anyway, feel better bud.”

            Steve’s cell phone beeped softly in his ear as Bucky hung up, that _bastard._ Bucky knew Steve had a thing for hot drummers. 

            Steve frowned and tapped into his phone: _Background?_

            Bucky’s reply came back almost instantly.  _Jazz mostly.  But he’s played a little bit of everything and knows our songs pretty well._

            Then

            _;)_

            Despite himself, Steve felt the corners of his mouth twitch up at his best friend’s cheek.  He ran his fingers through his fine hair, considering his options.  It’s not like he ever really had a _bad_ time going to see Bucky play music, and Spike Hill was a downright cozy spot compared to some of the places Steve had fought through to support his friend’s band, the Howling Commandos.  And anyway, his back wasn’t hurting _so_ badly, and it wasn’t like his small pale presence and role as Bucky’s best friend wasn’t well known and respected by Howling Commandos fans.

            Mind made up, Steve crossed his small apartment to the bathroom. Considering his appearance in the mirror, he fiddled with the red and blue striped bow tie at his throat, wondering if that in combination with a gray sweatervest and heavily tattooed forearms made him look too much of a hipster cliché.  But, this was how he normally looked, and if Bucky’s hot drummer friend was turned off it probably wasn’t meant to be in the first place.

            Steve tapped out a text to Bucky saying he’d be there in a little bit.

 

            Sliding through the crowds around the doors of the venue with his shoulders hunched, Steve waved a hand at Jimbo the doorman as Bucky’s friend Maria ushered him through the side doors the performers used. 

            “Glad you could make it.  Bucky’s nervous as hell,” she said, throwing a languid arm over Steve’s shoulders.  She was around five inches taller than Steve and smelled strongly of cigarettes.  Steve loved the smell, which was strange considering the smoke itself made him sick.  Steve had to speak at a higher volume than normal, the crowd’s buzz permeating the narrow dark hallway as he and his friend strode through it.

            “Why?  He’s played Spike Hill before.”

            “Yeah, but you know Buck.  He’s a scared little puppy inside.”

            Steve grinned, he did know.  He was glad he came, hot drummer or no.

            “Plus, he told me he thinks Sam would be into you,” Maria said as if reading Steve’s mind.  “Why anyone would go for scrawny little hipster boys like you, I’ll never know.  To each their own.”

            Steve grinned up at his friend, knowing Maria never went for boys at all.  Bucky had been crushed, but immediately set her up with their friend Natasha.  Bucky tended to fall in love fast and hard with every beautiful person to cross his path, but he usually could get over it with a little bit of time.  If nothing else, it made for good songwriting.

            “Sam, huh?  Sam what?”  Steve said, hoping he sounded casual.

            “Not sure.  W something.  Winston?  Williams?”

            “It’s Wilson, actually,” said a deep voice. 

            Sam Wilson emerged from the bathroom door on their left, drying his hands on his pants.  He wore a v-neck eggplant purple shirt with clean black jeans, the dark colors blending into his warm brown skin.  He was smiling wide and friendly, a gap between his two front teeth, an adorable imperfection which only enhanced his beautiful lips, strong jawline, and twinkling brown eyes.  His whole face beamed with a kind of openness Steve was instantly taken with.  It was charming, and Steve could feel his ears flush with heat.

            He clasped Sam’s offered hand, making note of the pleasant firmness around his own delicate fingers.  Sam was taller than Maria, his shoulders broad and strong.  Steve was already silently cursing Bucky’s inevitable _I-told-you-so_ look, when he heard his best friend’s voice nearby.

            “Sam?  We’ve got ten minutes, where’d you go?”

            “Just the bathroom!” Sam shouted toward the green room, before turning to grin at Steve.  It was only then Steve realized they were still shaking hands.  Hastily, he dropped Sam’s hand and shoved his own into his pockets, praying his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

            Maria snorted and walked toward the green room, pushing aside the curtain and folding into Natasha’s lap.  Sam followed her and Steve willed himself to look at anything but Sam’s ass as he ducked inside.

            Bucky rushed up to Steve and grabbed his friend in a frantic hug, lifting him off the ground.

            “Ow, Buck!”

            “Sorry,” he said, carefully putting Steve down.  “I’m just really glad to see you.  You’re always my good luck charm.”

            “You don’t need a good luck charm,” said Steve, grinning up at his friend and slapping him on the back.  “You’re the toast of Brooklyn.  No one can resist you.”

            “Except Maria,” Bucky said, mock moping toward their friends who were currently locked at the lips.  Maria offered a long middle finger toward Bucky before burying her hand in Natasha’s red hair.  The band members tittered good naturedly, used to their lead singer’s dramatics.

            “Well, now I’m offended,” Sam spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest.  Steve flicked his eyes quickly over the play of Sam’s muscles in his arms and upper body. “Cause I’m the most attractive person in this room, and you’ve never hit on me.”

            “That’s not strictly true,” said Bucky.  “I bought you that drink last weekend when I saw you play at Smalls.  You just didn’t seem all that interested.”

            “ _That_ was flirting?” said Sam.

            “James is used to people fawning over him as soon as they find out what band he sings for,” Steve said dryly.  Bucky shoved his shoulder playfully, groaning.

            “Don’t call me that, you little punk.  You promised you wouldn’t!”

            “I did no such thing.  Your mother gave you that name and I _did_ promise her I’d use when you were being a brat.”

            “I’m not being a brat!  You two are ganging up on me.”

            “Brattiness is simply a perpetual state for you.  I always have to be on the look out for opportunities to knock you down a peg, Mr. Big Time Rock Star.”

            “Quit it!” said Bucky, but his broad bright grin belied his true feelings.

            A man carrying a clip board stuck his head through the curtain, telling the room the band should come to the backstage area.  Bucky clasped Steve’s shoulder once, before taking a deep breath and swaggering through the curtain.  His regular bandmates followed, and Natasha and Maria detangled themselves with a faint popping noise and left as well.  Steve and Sam were the only people left in the green room.

            “That was really cool of you,” Sam said quietly.  Steve looked up into the tall man’s eyes, confused.  “Bucky was a bundle of nerves before you came in here.  I think he’ll be all right now.”

            “Oh,” said Steve, feeling a treacherous blush creep up his neckline.  “That was just us—being us.”           

            “I think that’s what he needed,” said Sam.

            “Well.  Thanks.  Uh, I guess.  And, break a leg.  Yeah.”

            “Thanks man.  We’ll talk after the show?”

            “Definitely,” Steve said.

            Sam nodded and ducked through the curtain.

            This time, Steve let himself stare at Sam’s ass, at least a little.

 

            Steve was debating the merits of wriggling through the post-show crowds to get a drink when Bucky decided for him, dragging him by the wrist from backstage and bounding toward the bar.  Sam was already standing there, sipping something yellow through a straw and grinning at the fans congratulating him on nailing the Commandos’ set list.

            Sam _had_ been radiant onstage, handling the drum set like he was born to do it.  Steve had heard the Commandos play a thousand times and they had never sounded quite so sweet.

            Bucky went to shout at the bartender while Steve worked up the nerve to talk to Sam in the sea of his adoring, yammering fans.

            “Great show,” shouted Steve.

            “What?” said Sam.

            “I said, great show!”

            “What?”

            Steve stood on his tip toes and Sam ducked downward so his ear was on Steve’s mouth’s level.

            “Great show!”

            Sam twisted his neck to meet Steve’s eyes, and Steve’s belly did a flip.

            “Thank you!”

            Sam straightened and Steve sank back on his heels.  They grinned at each other for a moment before Bucky squeezed himself between the two of them and shoved a cider at Steve’s chest.  Bucky took a sip of the bourbon he had got for himself and twisted his face at the taste.

            Sam cocked his head slightly at Steve, gesturing to Bucky with his chin as if to say, _what gives?_

            Steve rolled his eyes and broadened his grin, tapping a finger beneath his right eye.  _Just watch._

            Bucky’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them, a mischievous expression growing on his face.  He opened his mouth and said something, but it was lost in the buzz of the bar.

            “What!” shouted Sam.

            “I _said—_ ” Bucky began, before a hand covered in rings tapped on Bucky’s shoulder.  He spun to face a girl even shorter than Steve.  She had long luscious black hair and was pudgy, wearing three necklaces and what looked like a Sephora shelf’s worth of eye makeup.  In other words, exactly Bucky’s type (or at least one of them).

            The girl raised her own glass, also filled with bourbon, to Bucky’s, who tapped it happily before downing the contents.  She quirked an eyebrow at him and shout-asked if she could buy him another.  They waded toward an open spot at the bar together.

            Steve took a sip of his own drink, enjoying the tangy carbonation working its way down his esophagus.  He was continuously torn between being amazed at how well that trick worked, and bemused that Bucky even deigned to use tricks to pick people up, considering the number of folks that eagerly threw themselves at his feet.

            Steve was startled out of his reverie by the feeling of warm breath on his neck.

            “Wanna go somewhere a little quieter?” Sam said, his lips brushing Steve’s earlobe.

            Steve felt his whole body flush with heat, a particularly strong throb pulsing in his crotch.  He gulped and nodded, and Sam made an agreeable humming sound from behind him that Steve was sure would haunt him for several nights to come.

 

            The green room was empty, a mercy after the body to body press of the crowds outside.  Steve stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes flicking anxiously from couch to chairs to couch to chairs, before Sam slid around him and sat down in a faded loveseat, patting the cushion beside him.

            Steve sat, willing his blush to recede and avoiding Sam’s eye contact.  To fill the silence, he took a too-big gulp of cider, sputtering when some of it went down the wrong tube. 

            Sam’s broad hand was instantly on Steve’s back, rubbing gentle circles around and around until Steve stopped coughing.  It also served to calm him down.

            “Thanks,” Steve said, taking a couple of experimental deep breaths.

            “No problem,” Sam said.

            “You really were fantastic out there tonight.”

            “Thanks man.  I’ve been a Commandos fan pretty much since they started.  Tonight was fucking awesome.”

            “It was good luck Buck ran into you at Smalls.”

            “Well…” Sam said, and he looked away.  Steve couldn’t be sure in the dim lighting and against Sam’s skin tone, but he could swear that the larger man was blushing.

            “Not exactly a coincidence,” he mumbled, before slurping up the rest of his drink.  Steve took a moment to enjoy the way Sam’s lips wrapped around the straw before replying.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Just that… well.  I, uh, know Mikaela. And she said, well.  She showed me your picture on facebook and she said I should look you up,” Sam said.  And then, in a rush: “And I heard the Commandos needed a backup drummer tonight and that their lead singer would be at Smalls to scout someone out so I called in a few favors and to get on the line up and sought Bucky out and now I’m here.  Sitting.  Uh, next to you.”

            “Mikaela?  How’s she doing?  I mean, besides pining and regretting our break up,” Steve was trying very hard to sound casual.  Sam Wilson, hot drummer angel, had put himself in this situation… just for Steve?

            “Still teaching music around the city,” Sam said.  He slurped at the ice in his drink before putting it down.

            “And pining and regretting our break up?”

            Sam laughed.

            “You’ll have to ask her husband.”

            “No fooling!  Mikaela got married?”

            “Yes, to an investment banker.”

            “No!”

            “Mmhmm.  He’s not as cute as you, Steve, don’t worry.”

            Steve took a drink of his cider, his insides curling with pleasure at Sam’s compliment. 

            “Did you know,” said Steve.  “That she put a cigarette out on me once?”

            “What!”

            “It was an accident.”  Steve scooted toward Sam on the couch and pushed up his right sleeve.

            “I made it the eye of one of my tattoos,” Steve said, pointing at the scar.

            Sam traced the blemish and then the rest of the tattoo, a skull covered in roses that extended all the way down Steve’s forearm.  Steve’s skin rippled in gooseflesh wherever Sam’s fingers touched. 

            “What does it mean?” asked Sam.

            “Uh, nothing,” said Steve.  Sam gave him a look like he was lying.

            “Really, nothing.  It was just a design of mine I was particularly proud of.  Am, I guess.”

            “You didn’t draw this?” said Sam

            “I did.”

            “It’s beautiful.”

            “Thank you,” Steve murmured, looking away from Sam’s hands and up into his eyes.

            Sam leaned forward and Steve did too, their breaths mingling in the small bit of air between them.

            “I want to kiss you, Steve.”  Sam’s voice was low and husky.  Steve shivered and closed his eyes.  At an agonizing pace, he felt Sam’s breath and warmth get closer, and closer, and closer.

            “But I don’t go around kissing people I just met.” 

            A groan ripped out of Steve, and he snapped open his eyes, shoving himself backward from Sam.

            “Well, excuse me very much.  You play one successful rock show and you think you’re Bucky, is that it?”

            Sam was grinning and took Steve’s hand in his own. 

            “Let me take you on a date, silly boy.”

            Steve huffed, but he could feel his irritation melt away at this charming admitted stranger.

            “Fine, but after a stunt like that, you’re buying.”

            Sam’s smile was bright and broad.  He nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer." Spike Hill and Smalls are real places in Brooklyn, but I made up all the details.


End file.
